


Much That Is Fair

by Laylah



Category: Infinite Undiscovery
Genre: Adventure, Angsty Middle/Happy Ending, Multi, Polyamory, Presumed Dead, Seraphic Gate, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-17
Updated: 2010-12-17
Packaged: 2017-10-13 17:50:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/140030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laylah/pseuds/Laylah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every hero needs people to support him. Sometimes, they learn to support each other, too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Much That Is Fair

**Author's Note:**

  * For [the loupe (theloupe)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theloupe/gifts).



> Dear recipient,
> 
> I know you asked for happy fic for them! I apologize for taking so long to get there. I promise I am not going to leave them miserable!

Vesplume Tower ends in defeat, in a _rout_ , and as much as it stings Edward's pride to admit it, he's not willing to lie about what happened, either. They fared poorly, unprepared for the scale of the Order's operations and for the ferocity of the Dreadknight himself. In the aftermath, the Force's troops are scattered, breaking into smaller units to evade pursuit from the Order.

Edward sticks with Lord Sigmund, of course. He owes Sigmund everything he is, and his actions in the tower battle have only just begun to pay back that debt. He belongs at Sigmund's side, for as long as his lord will have his service.

It's the only comfort he can find as they make camp that night, sheltered from the wind and from the enemy's scouts by a cluster of boulders. They light no fire, unwilling to draw attention to themselves with the light and smoke. Sigmund himself provides the food, simple fare, mostly bread and berries. They eat in silence; it's partly practicality and partly, Edward thinks, that nobody has the heart to speak of the battle yet. As the two other soldiers who've stayed with them pitch a single tent to share it, Edward sets up his own and tries to make himself be grateful that it, at least, is still in one piece.

The weight of Sigmund's hand on his shoulder makes him startle and look up. "My lord?"

"May I share your tent?" Sigmund asks.

Edward's eyes go wide, and his heart hammers in his chest. For Sigmund to ask such a thing of him—

His silence must seem like hesitation, because Sigmund ducks his head; in the moonlight it's hard to see for certain, but Edward thinks he's smiling faintly. "Forgive me. I mean only that it's going to be cold, and sharing warmth would make the night pass more easily for both of us. I would not take advantage of your dedication by asking more than that."

"Of course," Edward says. He feels tongue-tied and awkward, unsure how to say what he means. "Of course you're welcome."

"Thank you," Sigmund says.

When they pile their weapons and armor along one side of the tent, there is little room left for both of them to lie down; having a tent of his own has been the only privacy Edward could claim for himself since he started traveling with the Force, so he has carried one designed for only one person. He makes room as best he can, now, and Sigmund stretches out beside him in the dark.

Edward lies awake, staring up into the dark of the tent, excruciatingly conscious of the warmth of Sigmund's back against his shoulder. Sigmund's breathing is steady and slow; it's hard to know if he's dropped off to sleep or not. Edward curses himself silently. He has the courage to face legions of Order soldiers in battle; surely he must have the courage for this. He wets his lips, pitching his voice low enough that if Sigmund is asleep—or wishes to pretend he is—it wouldn't be enough to disturb him: "If you did ask for more, my lord, I...would be honored."

For a moment there's no response, and Edward tries to curb his disappointment. Then Sigmund shifts, cloth rustling in the dark, and says softly, "I don't want you to make the offer out of a sense of obligation."

"I don't," Edward says immediately. He doesn't know how to explain himself, not truly: he _does_ feel an obligation to his lord, to serve with honor and support him; his life has been Sigmund's since the day they met. But that is a different thing from the raw tangle of emotions that Sigmund sparks within him, pride and devotion and longing. "Duty is not—is not what makes me offer."

"I'm glad to hear it," Sigmund says. His hand comes to rest on Edward's chest, sliding upward slowly. Edward's breathing hitches as Sigmund's fingertips find the collar of his shirt and slip further up, tracing the line of his throat, cupping his jaw—learning his position in the dark, he realizes, barely a second before Sigmund shifts closer and seals his lips to Edward's.

The cool night air makes the heat of Sigmund's mouth seem that much more overwhelming. Edward pushes into the kiss, hungry for this with such sudden desperation that he can barely stand it. He wraps his arms around Sigmund's waist as Sigmund moves to pin him, and the press of Sigmund's thigh between his sets his nerves on fire. Every fiber of his being says _yes_ —this is what he wants, and Sigmund is the person he wants to give himself to.

Edward parts his lips further, teasing at Sigmund's tongue, nipping at Sigmund's lip. Sigmund makes a muffled, hungry sound against Edward's mouth—and then all at once a shudder wracks him, hard, making his hand clench on Edward's shoulder. His mouth tastes suddenly like copper, and by the time Edward realizes what that means, Sigmund is rolling off him, coughing, a terrible, wet sound.

"My lord," Edward says urgently, reaching blindly for him in the dark. There's so little Edward can do in a case like this—he has never wished for a lunaglyph with healing powers more than he does at this moment. His hand finds the flat of Sigmund's back, and he can feel the cough rattling in Sigmund's lungs until it finally subsides. "We might—let me look through our supplies and see if we have any medicine left," he says.

"We don't," Sigmund says. His voice is strained and rough. "We have almost nothing. Food for the morning, no more." He takes a slow, shaky breath. "This is not a new injury. It was merely aggravated in this last battle. Try not to worry."

"I can't obey that order," Edward says. "But I'll do my best not to trouble you." He can feel Sigmund relaxing slowly, the pained tension bleeding out of exhausted muscles. "Let me at least keep you warm tonight, my lord."

Sigmund takes another labored breath. "Thank you," he says. He slides closer, moving gingerly, and Edward curls close behind him so that Sigmund's back is pressed to Edward's chest.

Saying _sleep well_ or _feel better_ seems...presumptuous, like one more unreasonable demand. "Good night," Edward says instead.

He feels Sigmund's shoulders relax further, and thinks he must have chosen correctly. "Good night, Edward," Sigmund murmurs.

Edward doesn't drift off himself until he's sure Sigmund is asleep.

* * *

Edward shares his tent with Sigmund for the next few nights, as they slowly regroup with the other scattered members of the Force, restocking their supplies and making their way back to less hostile territory. Sigmund's condition does improve, as they travel without fighting any more serious battles, though he doesn't seem to recover completely. He's still easily as strong as any ordinary man. On the fourth night they try again, and it goes far better than the first time; Edward surrenders his virginity gladly, and feels thankful that he waited for the chance to do this with Sigmund instead of indulging his curiosity with someone who mattered less.

As they get closer to Burgusstadt, into friendlier territory, Genma brings them disturbing news. The Order holds Graad Prison, and there is a rumor that they have Sigmund captured. The core of the Liberation Force know it for a lie, but the rumor itself will be bad enough for morale unless it can be quashed decisively. There is a tense argument about whether they can afford the time it would take to sack the prison; by that time they've regrouped with enough other soldiers that they should have the manpower.

They will at least go investigate, Sigmund decides at last. And where he goes, Edward will follow.

* * *

So much of the news about Sigmund is just _awful_ , Michelle doesn't even know what to do with herself some nights. She worried about him constantly on the ocean crossing, and the news after they come into port is no better. Just finding him again is turning into such an ordeal, and when she thinks about him losing an important battle—when she thinks about him being thrown in _prison_ —

She won't believe it, she decides, on the morning she sets out from Port Zala toward Burgusstadt. That's the only possible answer. Those horrible things can't be true. People say all sorts of things without really knowing the truth behind them. Michelle has more faith in Sigmund than that. She'll believe the good rumors, the ones that say the king of Burguss has offered to ally with him, and she'll head to the capital of Burguss and be reunited with him there. It's supposed to be a beautiful country—just right for a romantic reunion with her beloved.

* * *

Returning to Burguss is not the reprieve Edward hoped for. Aya's ill-planned bid for glory—an attempt to rescue Sigmund from prison on her own—saddles them with Capell, who has Sigmund's face but none of his courage or honor. Then her relapse into curse sickness disrupts the camp and weakens morale further. Even when they take Castle Prevant and Sigmund cuts the Azure Chain, which should be a victory worth celebrating, the black-red splash of Sigmund's blood on the stones taints the triumph with nightmare.

That recurring pattern, no good news without some bad to follow it, has Edward trying to brace himself for some ill turn when King Nestor welcomes them with such fanfare—but he's still not prepared for their meeting with Michelle, for the way she throws herself into Sigmund's arms and the way he gladly, publicly returns her embrace. Edward feels...not angry, the way he feels toward Capell; it's clear that Capell doesn't appreciate the favor Sigmund shows him. Michelle, on the other hand, obviously _does_ know how important Sigmund is, and mostly Edward finds himself struggling with disappointment. He knew that what he had with Sigmund was not likely to last, not the way he might want it to, but he'd hoped for more time than this.

He can't even resent Michelle for it. After the meeting with King Nestor to hear the good news—Sigmund will be blessed with a new lunaglyph, bestowed in a rite led by the king himself!—they retire to a private room in the castle to recuperate. Michelle is there waiting for them, and she serves tea for the entire group. She assumes the role of gracious hostess; Edward is reminded of the ladies in his parents' circle of acquaintances, skilled at encouraging conversation and making people feel comfortable. Nobody dwells on grim topics, even though there are plenty they could discuss. Her kindness will be good for Sigmund.

That makes it no less awkward when Edward finds himself alone in the room with her after the others have dispersed to begin preparations for the ceremony. He stands stiffly at attention, resisting the urge to fidget, unsure how to speak to her or what to say.

She smiles at him warmly, and says, "He really is wonderful, isn't he?"

"He is," Edward says, grateful for such an easy conversational opening. "I'm honored to be able to serve Lord Sigmund."

"I worried about him so much after we got separated," Michelle says. "It's such a relief to know that he had you to care for him."

"I've done my best," Edward says. "Though I'm no healer."

"But you're a much better warrior than I am, I'm sure," Michelle says, hands on her hips. "I could never handle a big sword like that." She smiles again. "Now that I'm going with you, though, we'll be able to take care of him together."

"R-right," Edward says. As a priest, Eugene has some skill with healing, but he admitted himself that Michelle has first-rate skills there. "I'd be grateful for...for any help you could give him."

"It'll be my pleasure," Michelle says. She comes closer, her hips swaying just a little as she walks; between that and the way she spills out of her bodice, Edward would think it was an attempt at seduction, except that they're having a conversation about their— _her_ —lover. "And I really am glad you'll be there, too. Sigmund drives himself so hard, he needs good people to support him. And you—" She lays her hand on his arm. "You feel the same way about him as I do, don't you?"

Edward's face heats. There's no mistaking how Michelle feels about Sigmund; she's made the nature of her feelings extremely clear. He swallows hard. "I do," he says. It would be dishonorable to lie to her about it, even if that means—

"Good," she says. "Then he'll be twice as lucky to have both of us traveling with him." She winks, and her smile turns mischievous. "Or else twice as exhausted."

"Michelle!" Edward says, and to his embarrassment his voice cracks. For her to acknowledge him that much, and to assume that his liaison with Sigmund would continue, is more than he would have expected. But still, it seems outrageous for her to joke about it, impossible for it to be so simple.

Her hands fly to her mouth. "I'm so sorry!" she says. "I've done it again, haven't I. First Capell, and now you." She sounds like she might be about to burst into tears. "I—I promise, I don't mean to upset people so much! I just say these things without thinking!"

"No," Edward hastens to reassure her, "no, you didn't do anything wrong! I'm not upset." He's not sure he even wants to know what she said to upset Capell. It seems like _everything_ upsets Capell. "I was just...surprised. It's, ah, generous of you to even suggest something like that."

Michelle takes a deep breath, visibly collecting herself. "Thank you," she says, and though she still sounds shaky, she's at least trying to smile again. "Sigmund is a great man. A hero." She stands up straighter as she talks about him, lifts her chin proudly, meeting Edward's eyes. "I love him and I want to stand by him, to give him support. If you want that too, then...I'm glad. You're another person he can depend on."

"Michelle," Edward says hoarsely. He bows his head. "I'm glad you're here with us. And I give you my word that I'll do everything in my power to help Sigmund along with you."

"That's so sweet of you," Michelle says. She opens her mouth as if she has more to say, but then a bell starts to toll somewhere else in the castle, and she shakes her head. "Almost time for the rite," she says. She takes Edward's hand and squeezes it briefly, affectionately. "I'm sure we'll have more chances to talk later."

Edward nods. "We will," he says. He'll make sure of it.

* * *

Castle Burguss is awfully quiet tonight—a waste of a good chance to celebrate, in Michelle's opinion. A child receiving a lunaglyph is common enough, but it isn't every day that Veros honors a grown man with additional blessings. And Sigmund is the Liberator and everything! It would have made sense to have at least a little party after the rite was over. Michelle thought before that Edward was unusually stuffy, but maybe it's just the way everyone in Burguss is and he can't help it.

Still, even if the rest of the castle isn't bothering, at least Michelle can go see Sigmund and they can have a little celebration of their own. That's another thing Burguss is sort of stuffy about—anybody who isn't married got separate rooms, never mind how little anybody cared about that when they were on the road. The guards are polite enough to look the other way, though, when she leaves her own room and makes her way through the quiet halls to Sigmund's.

There's still light spilling out beneath his door, so she's caught him before bed and everything. Michelle knocks lightly and waits.

Sigmund opens the door with almost no hesitation, and smiles warmly when he sees her. He's already out of his armor, both the heavy plate and the scarlet tunic beneath it, and in a plain linen undershirt he looks nearly naked by comparison. "Michelle," he says. "What a pleasant surprise."

"Really?" she asks, leaning in. "But you must know how much I've missed you."

"Maybe," Sigmund admits. "Please, come in."

His room looks like it's one of the nicest in the castle—the king of Burguss might not know how to celebrate, but at least he seems to appreciate how hard Sigmund is fighting for all of them. The fire crackles and blazes in the fireplace, the room comfortably warm, and the bed definitely looks inviting. There's a stand beside it for Sigmund's armor, and his sword hangs next to it.

"Is that new?" Michelle asks. "It looks different than the one you had before."

Sigmund nods. "Edward made it for me," he says, brushing his fingers over the hilt, and he looks so pleased. "He's developing quite a talent with metals."

She was right about Edward, Michelle thinks. Maybe he is a bit stuffy, but it's obvious just looking at that sword how much love went into making it. Michelle isn't an expert on smithing by any means, but all those fine filigree details are clearly above and beyond what duty alone requires. "Good," she says. "It looks very nice."

"It is. I'm fortunate," Sigmund says. He steps away from it and toward her. "I'm sorry. You probably didn't come here to talk about, ah, my sword."

Michelle has to laugh, because from the look on his face she'd bet he only realized how that would sound as he was in the middle of saying it. "Maybe not," she says. She reaches out to touch him, to lay her hand against his chest. "How do you feel?" She did all she could with her magic, when she was with him before, but the endless battles were so hard on him. If this new blessing helps to make that better—

"I am well," Sigmund says, placing his hand over hers. "Better. Thank you. I'm sorry to have worried you so much."

"It's all right now," Michelle says. "And I know it wasn't your idea to leave me behind."

"No," Sigmund says, and his face darkens for a moment. "I will be talking to Eugene about that, I promise."

She could tell him not to bother, but it's true that Eugene is more likely to listen if Sigmund is the one to reproach him. And otherwise what's to stop him from deciding they should move on without Edward next time, or without poor Capell? "It won't happen again," is all Michelle says. "I'm going to be at your side from now on."

"Thank you, Michelle," Sigmund says, drawing her into his arms. His smile is so gentle, so different from the ferocity he displays as the Liberator. "I've missed you." He kisses her, gently at first, then more hungrily as she melts in his arms.

Her body always responds so readily at his touch, and already she's impatient to go to bed with him when he pulls back, his expression serious. "What's the matter?" Michelle asks.

Sigmund looks her in the eyes, calm and reserved. "Before you decide if you want to take up with me again, you should know that I...have been with someone else, and recently. I would not want to keep that from you, and have you here under false pretenses."

Really, that just makes her want to kiss him again. "Well, now you've told me," she says. She supposes if he hadn't, she might have felt troubled by that eventually—just by the thought that he would keep it a secret from her, instead of trusting her to understand. "Have you talked to him about me yet? He seemed so nervous earlier."

"You knew?" Sigmund says.

"I thought it was obvious just from the way his face lights up when he talks about you!" Michelle says. Then she stops. "Or—did I misunderstand you? Are we not talking about Edward?"

Sigmund laughs helplessly, shaking his head, like he's relieved. It's so good to see him _happy_ like that, away from all that stoic hero business. "No, you're right. I meant Edward. I suspect he'd be mortified to discover he was so easy to read."

"I think it's sweet," Michelle says. "He clearly loves you very much. I'm looking forward to getting to know him better as we travel."

That makes Sigmund look serious again. "This isn't going to be a pleasure journey," he says. "It'll be hard work, and our enemies are cruel. If you wanted to stay away from the fighting—"

Michelle puts her fingers to his lips, shaking her head. "I want to be with you," she says. "I want to be there to support you. Please don't try to send me away again."

"As you wish," he says. "I will be glad to have your company."

This time there aren't any more distractions when he takes her in his arms. She leans into him, letting him take the lead, letting herself relax at last into his strength. His kisses are confident, just a touch forceful—just enough to make her pleasantly shivery. He feels every bit as good as she remembered, solid, powerful, certain.

When he draws back this time it's to take a step toward the bed. "Will you stay tonight?" he asks.

"Of course," Michelle says. "I came all this way just for you." She supposes she'll have to share Sigmund's time with Edward in the days ahead, but not tonight. Tonight is their first chance to do this in ages, and she doesn't want to miss even a moment of it.

Sigmund helps her out of her clothes, his hands quick and clever on the laces of her bodice, then slow and reverent on the bared curves of her skin. Michelle arches into his callused hands, letting them warm her as much as the fire does. The admiring look on his face is intoxicating.

Still, she doesn't forget that she wanted to do some admiring of her own. When he has her stripped bare, she gives him a moment to just watch her, and then she reaches for his shirt in turn. It makes him smile, for her to want him, for her to be insistent.

And when she gets his shirt off him, for an instant Michelle's breath catches in her throat. "That's—very impressive," she says.

Not all lunaglyphs are equally visible; some of them, like the bold strokes on Balbagan's shoulder, are plain as tattoos, while others, like Michelle's own, are faint as long-healed scars. There doesn't seem to be any clear pattern to determine who will receive what kind. Sigmund's new lunaglyph is one of the most ornate examples that Michelle has ever seen, a seal of sweeping, curving, blue-black lines across his chest. Her fingers trace one of the lines where it arcs over his heart, and she imagines she can feel the power contained in it.

"Don't worry," Sigmund says, taking her hand. "I can handle it. I'm not in any danger of losing control."

"I know," Michelle says. If anyone is strong enough to bear that power, it's Sigmund. "I just wish you didn't need it. When all this is over, I want...." And she can't make herself finish that thought. She knows how hard Sigmund has been pushing himself, and how much more danger he's going to be facing before it's over.

He nods. "So do I," he says. "But we don't have to wait that long to have a little happiness, do we?"

"No," Michelle says. "That's true." She helps Sigmund out of the rest of his clothes, and he takes her to bed. The sheer softness of the mattress takes them both by surprise and makes Michelle laugh; a castle offers all sorts of luxuries that neither of them have been able to get on the road. Sigmund pulls her down on top of him and she stretches out against him, sliding to feel the smooth warmth of skin on skin. Michelle is the one to lean in for a kiss, and Sigmund rocks beneath her, his hands roving, finding all the sensitive spots where she has missed his touch.

When she plants her knees on either side of his waist and cants her hips to take him in, that feels so good, so _right_ , that they both moan. So long apart, and now they're finally here again, together, sharing themselves like this. Every hardship of the journey back to him was worth it.

* * *

They take a little time for Sigmund—for _everyone_ —to recuperate, since Burgusstadt is welcoming. Capell apparently passes the time with running errands for people, incapable of finding ways to keep himself busy on his own initiative. Edward spends his time training. They will be trying again to take Vesplume Tower when they get back to Fayel, and he wants to be ready. He wants to be worthy of Sigmund's esteem.

The journey is less of an ordeal than it could have been. They're well-rested now, and better equipped; they have the numbers to take down any wildlife that mistake them for prey. And Michelle is a better addition to the company than Edward would have expected, from listening to Eugene. Not only is she a powerful healer, but she seems to appreciate the challenge of a good fight. The disappointment is plain in her voice when she says, "That was over fast," pouting at the harpies they've dispatched, and Edward has to smile. She understands.

In camp one evening, he goes through the materials they have on hand to see if there's anything useful he can make for her; his blacksmithing skills are primarily suited for the heavy weapons and armor that he and Sigmund use, but surely he can find some little token of appreciation for her. After some consideration, he turns his attention to working a ring out of copper, careful with the minute sigils that will infuse the metal with power. His lunaglyph might not give him command of the elements, and at times he wishes for something as imposing as Balbagan's, but this talent with metals is at least a useful service for the Force.

Michelle looks delighted when he offers her the ring. She thanks him profusely, and when he explains that it's designed to improve spellcasting ability, she hugs him, an exuberant gesture that he has trouble fighting his way free of. His face burns—but when he looks across the fire, Sigmund is smiling at them, the expression gentle and grateful. There's nothing he wouldn't do for that smile.

* * *

Crossing the desert is just as awful as Michelle remembered, though at least now she has companions she can count on to help her when the garuda come sweeping down from the sky. It doesn't make them any less terrifying to face—there's something about enemies attacking from above that she just can't stand—but at least it means they're defeated quickly.

Sadly, even the fiercest warrior can't best the heat of the Oradian Dunes, which is the worst part of the crossing. They stick to the shadow of cliffs when they can, and the mages do their best—Michelle uses her water spells often, and one of the children has a talent for ice—but it's rough going. And then they get the news about the village.

Sigmund being who he is, of course when he hears there's a chain set down in this little out-of-the-way village, he decides they'll have to go break it. The poor villagers are long gone, and the place is crawling with Order soldiers and even a few ogres. It's hard work to fight their way to the chain, and Michelle wishes she could just pull Sigmund out of harm's way before it's over. She's glad he has Edward at his right hand, cutting down the soldiers who want to make a name for themselves by defeating the Liberator. _Levi_ , Michelle murmurs, doing her part. _Megalevi_ , for the both of them.

And then, when the fighting is done, there's one disorienting moment when she thinks she's been wrong the entire time—when Sigmund stands back to watch and it's Capell who cuts the chain. She thinks at first that they've changed clothes, so that Sigmund could reach the chain unnoticed, but Capell assures her that they haven't. It's a miracle, then, that Capell can cut the chains too. Maybe this will mean that poor Sigmund can finally get some rest, and not have to push himself quite so hard in every single battle. Maybe this will make things easier for all of them.

* * *

Fayel is a mixed blessing. Edward resents Capell and Aya both for their meddling, for making the rest of the Force wait while they go play at being grand rescuers; he tries not to think too hard about why Sigmund would be so lenient when they're jeopardizing the mission. At least it's a few more days he can spend training, before they attempt Vesplume Tower again. He's determined to do better there this time.

Their lodgings in Fayel are another complication; Emir Sharoukh welcomes them more grudgingly than King Nestor did, and claims he can only offer space in the palace to a select few of the Liberation Force—two rooms, and four beds. Sigmund himself receives hospitality, as the Force's commander, and Savio, as an aristo; the two remaining beds are left to Sigmund to assign. Edward expects to be relegated to the inn, but Sigmund names Michelle first and him second. The shared rooms are small and sparsely furnished, and Savio's knowing smile when they arrange to trade each night makes Edward's cheeks burn, but the chance to go to bed with Sigmund is still enough of a boon that he can't honestly complain.

By their fourth night in Fayel, the second when he'll retire to Sigmund's room after supper, Edward has started to hope that Capell and Aya _do_ take the full seven days to return. Selfishly, he wants to enjoy this time, and more usefully he has an idea for how he could make himself stronger, more of an asset to the Force. The emir probably won't listen unless he can get Sigmund to ask on his behalf, though, and ideally the moon will have a few more days to wax first.

After supper and a visit to the baths—in this climate, Eugene isn't the only one who wants to bathe frequently—Edward returns to Sigmund's room, refreshed, his hair curling damp against his nape where the desert air hasn't yet stolen all the moisture away. Sigmund is waiting for him, his expression warm and appreciative.

Staying with Sigmund in the field, sharing his tent, was already a luxury; sharing a bed with him here, where they can take the time to strip and really relax, is a delight. Sigmund is as handsome as a hero from the old tales, lean and muscular, graceful and confident. The new lunaglyph on his chest marks him outwardly with power that he already seemed to possess, and Edward traces its lines with lips and tongue, hands following the contours of sleek muscle. The heat in Sigmund's eyes makes Edward feel flushed and feverish, and he spends his strength for Sigmund almost too quickly.

They lie sated in Sigmund's bed afterward, sweat drying on their skin, the room heavy with the scent of their exertion. Sigmund's fingers trail idly through Edward's hair, and the quiet affection of the gesture makes Edward's heart ache.

"I...have a request to make," he says eventually.

Sigmund's hand stills. "What is it?"

"Vesplume Tower is well guarded," Edward says. He remembers the brutal fights the last time, the wearying battle through the halls and stairwells toward their goal; it can only have gotten worse, now that the Order have the experience behind them to tell them where their weaknesses lay. "We will need all the strength we can muster to take it."

"We will," Sigmund says. "I have been thinking of little else, since we got here."

Edward nods. "I want to be as much help to you as I can," he says.

"You are already—" Sigmund begins.

"I want to undergo a rite," Edward interrupts, before he can lose his nerve. "I need more power to be able to fight them." Sigmund shifts his weight, turning so he can look Edward in the eye. His expression is serious, searching, as if he measures Edward's readiness. "The emir wouldn't listen to me if I asked alone, but you're the Liberator. If you asked him, especially after our victory at Sapran...." He trails off, silenced by the weight of Sigmund's gaze.

"It's dangerous," Sigmund says. "Bearing two lunaglyphs is no easy thing. There are plenty of strong men who cannot do it." He lays his hand against Edward's chest, over his heart. "Are you certain that's the path you wish to take?"

The hesitation seems so unlike him, when Sigmund is usually so decisive, at first Edward can't understand it. But then he realizes: Sigmund is worried about him. "I am," Edward says. "I know it's hard to master a second lunaglyph, but I can do it. I _will_ do it." He'll prove himself; he'll be there at Sigmund's right hand when the last chain is broken.

"The decision is yours to make," Sigmund says. "There is another full moon coming. If this is what you want, then I will speak to the emir."

"Thank you, my lord," Edward says. "Thank you." Things will go differently at the tower this time. He's sure of it.

* * *

Michelle does everything in her power when they reach the tower's peak.

It's not enough.

* * *

Edward tries to remind himself: they cut the chain. That matters.

It doesn't.

* * *

The plan makes sense; people need a hero to believe in. But it's _horrible_. Michelle wants to break down sobbing, wants time to mourn—wants to curse the gods for taking him away so soon. She can't do that anywhere someone might see her, though, because the world needs the Liberator enough that they all have to suffer.

Capell looks handsome in the armor, and when he remembers his confidence he seems like he could be a good leader. Michelle can't bring herself to call him by Sigmund's name. It was so _silly_ having them both around, having them look so similar that everyone confused the two of them—but now she knows which one of them she's seeing. From now on she always will.

Balbagan disappears before they leave Fayel, and Michelle can't blame him. She feels a little like running away herself—but she did promise Capell that he could depend on her, and she wouldn't want to leave him stranded, the poor thing. And anyway, where would she go? Nothing sounds appealing. At least if she stays with the Force, she'll be doing something Sigmund would approve of, and she'll be around people who might understand how it hurts.

* * *

Capell is a terrible leader, alternately stubborn and cowardly. Why Sigmund would sacrifice himself and leave them all with _him_ —frustration and anger are the fuel that keeps Edward going, a fire like his new lunaglyph, licking through his veins.

It's little satisfaction that the good they do is in Sigmund's name. Capell is a poor substitute. But they cut the chain that holds Port Zala, calming the storm, and Sigmund the Liberator is the one people celebrate. As they should. Without Sigmund, none of this would be possible. There would be no Liberation Force.

Still, now that he's—in his absence, Edward should be leading them, not Capell. Edward has the drive, the focus, the understanding of how serious this cause truly is. All Capell has is an unfortunately similar face. The injustice of it makes Edward sick.

* * *

Kolton is a beautiful city, for all that it's cold; the last time she was here, Michelle found it quite charming. It looks even more lovely now, with the soft rain of golden light falling over steep, snow-dusted roofs. She feels energized, physically, and that seems to dull the pain of loss a little bit—at least until Edward collapses in the town square, his new lunaglyph flaring bright as he sinks to his knees.

There's chaos, then, as they try to get him inside and get him comfortable and figure out how to help him. Savio and Eugene argue about what could be causing the problem—from what Michelle overhears, this isn't what they've been trained to expect when a lunaglyph goes out of control, and they're worrying about what that could mean. She doesn't pay much attention. She isn't very good at theory, but she knows how to take care of people who are hurt, so she stays by Edward's bedside, doing what she can to ease his fever and his pain.

Capell is every bit as kind and generous as she hoped he would be, though. When one of the local boys says he's seen Edward's sickness before, and might be able to find them someone to help, Capell insists that they should do it. He takes most of the Force with him, and Michelle stays by Edward's sickbed to take care of him.

Most of the time he's only half awake, tossing and turning in bed. If it's a problem with his lunaglyph, like it seems to be, then using magic on him might make it hurt more instead of less, so Michelle tries not to. Instead she brews potions for him, holding him up carefully to help him drink, keeping track of the fever that makes him flush and shiver.

He calls for Sigmund when he slips into dreams, his hands reaching helplessly. "Oh, sweetheart," Michelle says, taking his hand. She thinks she might start crying if she lets herself think about it. "I know. I miss him, too. He was so good."

Edward's eyes flutter and open, glassy with fever but focusing on her. "Michelle?" he says. His voice comes out hoarse and croaking.

"I'm here," she says. "Let me get you some tea. You're very sick."

"I'm not—I can't just lie here," he says, trying to sit up, swinging his legs off the side of the bed as if he's going to get up. "I can't let him down. I have to keep going."

Michelle tries to stop him, and she knows that if he were at all healthy she'd have no chance—he's one of the strongest fighters the Liberation Force has, after all. But it's easy for her to push him back down onto the bed now. "You're in no shape to fight," she says. "You need to rest and get your strength back."

Edward shakes his head. "I can't afford to just...do nothing," he says, but it looks like just arguing is taking plenty of effort for him right now. Michelle's heart breaks a little for him, grieving the only way he knows how.

She smooths his hair back from his forehead, resting her hand there for a moment. "You're burning up," she says. She takes a cup of tea from the bedside table and holds it up for him. "This should help some."

He gulps down the tea thirstily once he tastes it—he must be parched, with his fever running so high—and Michelle lets herself breathe a little easier. It doesn't take long after that before the herbs in this blend take effect, and Edward's eyes are slipping closed again. Michelle sighs, sitting back in her chair to keep watch.

She stays with Edward as much as she can, leaving only to get food or to relieve herself; in a way, she supposes, this is how _she's_ grieving, too. Edward loved Sigmund just like she did, and Sigmund cared for them both. With Sigmund gone, it seems important for the two of them to look after each other. So Michelle stays: she gives Edward tea and broth when he's awake enough to drink them, and wipes the sweat from his brow when the fever is high. And late at night, when he's sleeping as soundly as he can, she lets herself cry for what they've both lost.

He doesn't seem to be getting better as time goes by, and Michelle wishes Capell would come back with help. She does her best with teas and potions, but his sleep grows more restless, his shivers more severe—and then finally he sits bolt upright, muscles taut, his eyes so bright they seem to glow. His lunaglyph flares visibly on his hand.

"Michelle," he growls. His hands clench in the sheets, white-knuckled, pulling so tight that something tears. "Get out of here."

She's already stumbling to her feet. "Edward? What's the matter?"

"Get _out_ ," he says again. "This power, I—I can't hold it back. I don't want to hurt you. Hurry! Get out, and bar the door!"

"I'll get help," Michelle promises. "It'll be all right! Don't worry!"

The noise he makes doesn't even sound human. Michelle flees, locking the door behind her; inside, Edward starts to scream, to howl. Something slams against the wall with a heavy thud, and then glass shatters with a high-pitched crash. Michelle flinches. She prays the others get back soon.

* * *

The lengths Capell was willing to go for him are humbling. When he recovers, Edward has to admit he was wrong, too quick to dismiss Capell's courage, too blinded by his jealousy to see the strength Capell brought to the Force. If Capell still wants his company now, after how he behaved—after he lost control of himself and endangered them all, thanks to his quest for power—then for honor's sake he couldn't possibly walk away. He wants to help see this fight through to victory, even if he isn't the hero of this tale.

When Halgita's empress reveals Sigmund's history to them and explains why Capell looks so much like him, the revelation is both impossible and obvious. Of course Sigmund couldn't have told them those things; the story would have been unbelievable, and it would have betrayed Capell as an unblessed. But suddenly Sigmund's affection for Capell makes sense, and Edward's jealousy feels even more misplaced.

For both of their sakes, father and son, Edward will stand by Capell's side. Whatever the cost, whatever trials they face, whoever might turn against them—he'll be there. He'll give Capell any aid he can.

* * *

Just _once_ , Michelle wishes they could have a victory that didn't come with some terrible cost. When they return from the last chain, Aya is struggling not to cry, and Michelle feels a little heartbroken herself. Capell was so brave, so sweet—it's not fair that they've lost him, too.

And then their trials still aren't over. With Veros's power gone, it's not long before Savio, Touma, and Serafina are swooning away—and none of them have any power left to their lunglyphs to attempt healing. Komachi panics quietly, Kristofer much less so, and Kiriya seems brittle enough to snap at any moment. Michelle's shoulders sag, and she wants to cry, wants to scream. They _won_! Shouldn't there be something to celebrate? Anything at all?

She meets Edward's eyes and thinks she can see the same frustration there. He takes a deep breath and squares his shoulders, like he's preparing to lift something heavy. Michelle nods to him, making herself stand straighter. They can still do Sigmund proud, even now.

"All right," Edward says, loudly enough to cut through people's panic. "We need to get back to Kolton. From there we can figure out what to do next, but the first step is getting out of here, and taking the aristos someplace safe."

* * *

By the time they reach Kolton, the worst of the immediate crisis has been weathered. There, too, the aristos have collapsed, and nobody can call on the powers of a lunaglyph anymore; fortunately, the city's guard has some capable officers who kept order when the people would have panicked. People are learning to adapt. There were unblesseds secretly living in Kolton already, and now their skills and knowledge have become invaluable; they have gone from outcasts to teachers in the space of a few days.

Edward finds himself leading what remains of the Liberation Force, now that he no longer envies the position. He tells Kolton's officials and anxious priests a half-true version of the final conflict, one in which both Veros and the Liberator were lost following the final confrontation with the Dreadknight, all of their power spent in the battle to cut the final chain. The omissions taste of bile in his throat, but if people held them responsible for the failure of all lunaglyphs—the destruction of their way of life—there would be mobs baying for their blood. Better to tell an abbreviated truth and come home heroes who might be able to help the world toward a better future.

It is perhaps that reputation as heroes that brings the messenger to fetch them from the inn. "Sir," the messenger says, "my lord." He wears a guard's uniform but he can't be much older than Vic; he's too young to be a soldier already.

"What is it?" Edward asks. The panic in the boy's voice has his nerves jangling already.

"The dead portal east of the castle," the boy says. "It's just come to life."

Edward frowns. Nobody knows where that portal was supposed to lead; for it to be working at all, now, when there is no magic left.... "Has anyone tried to go through it?"

"No, sir," the boy says. "It's under guard right now, but mostly the captain's afraid something might want to come _out_ of it." He chews his lip nervously. "Could you—the Liberation Force, I mean—?"

"I'll bring a team," Edward says.

He takes Kiriya, who might be able to figure out what made the portal open, and Aya, so he'll have a ranged fighter to back them up if there's trouble, and Michelle, who has enough alchemy skills to do decent healing even now. They're all tired and heart-weary; truthfully, Edward thinks, so is he. But they all know by now that the world won't wait for them to recover before their help is needed. They check over their supplies, then head out.

* * *

There is no time in this place, the sky an unchanging bruise violet overhead, the light suspended constantly in the dim strangeness of twilight, of eclipse. A fog clouds Sigmund's mind, keeps him waiting at the top of this tower—does he know this tower?—instead of leaving to seek out.... The thought slips away from him when he tries to remember. What was he seeking? What brought him here? If he knew, he could break this stasis. Unknowing, he can only wait.

When the man in armor appears, a memory tries to stir in the depths of Sigmund's fogged mind, but more pressing than that memory is the need to _fight_. The urge is so strong he can't resist it, and he draws his sword—the sword, too, is familiar, something he should know even as he swings it in a bright arc through the air.

The stranger fights well, quick and capable; the only thing he lacks is ruthlessness. He doesn't press the advantage when it falls to him, only keeps his defenses strong and refuses to give up. Their swords clash and slide, a screech of prismatite on mercurius metal, and the stranger's breath is harsh and clipped. He's trying to speak, Sigmund realizes when their swords lock and he can see the young man's lips moving, shaping words. What he has to say must matter, from the look in his eyes—damn the fog that deadens Sigmund's senses. He struggles with it, trying to force his mind to clear. His arms swing his sword without thought, trained strokes he's practiced for years. He thinks the young man's voice is gentle, hopeful, the words a plea. Sigmund grits his teeth. He knows the sword he carries. He knows this young man's face. He wills the fog to clear, to let him remember.

"Please—father," the young man says.

Sigmund drops his sword.

"Capell," he says, his voice his own again. The memories come tumbling back, all of them, Sigmund's and Volsung's both. The sword he carries is Balmung, the blade Volsung commissioned to celebrate Capell's birth. The armor Capell wears is a twin to Sigmund's, the armor of the Liberator. Sigmund remembers: the tower, the Dreadknight, the darkness that took him, the terrible revelation of Veros's madness.

When his limbs will obey him again, Sigmund steps forward, clasping Capell's arms with both hands. "Are you all right?" he asks. "Tell me you weren't—tell me he didn't defeat you."

Capell shakes his head. "We did it," he says. "We won. Me and Aya and Ed and Michelle and Eugene and everybody."

Pride fills Sigmund's heart, pride and relief that the Dreadknight will no longer threaten the world. "You did well," he says.

"Thanks," Capell says, smiling shyly. All those years where he had nobody to care for him, nobody to believe in him; there's so much time to make up for.

Sigmund embraces him now. The armor makes it awkward, but he doesn't care. "Thank _you_ , Capell. I'm proud of you."

The light is finally changing, Sigmund realizes as he draws back. What he had taken for dusk was in fact the early hint of dawn, and now the sky is brightening, lavender changing to rose and rose to gold. The light feels like a blessing, and he tips his head back to feel its warmth on his face.

The whole top of the tower is suffused with radiance, so bright Sigmund has to close his eyes—but with the light comes a feeling of peace, a feeling of warmth and joy and being perfectly, wholly loved. _Well fought, heroes_ , says a woman's voice, clear and melodic as the ringing of bells. _Your courage has saved your people. Go, now. This prison is no place for you._

Light and presence fade, into the ordinary brightness of an early desert morning. Capell looks awestruck; Sigmund feels the same. And at the far end of the parapet, a door stands open where there was no door before. Light pours through it, welcoming.

"Should we...do it?" Capell asks.

"There's nothing for us here," Sigmund says. He wants to trust that warmth, the benediction that has been offered to them. "I'm ready to leave."

"Okay," Capell says.

Sigmund takes his son's hand, and they step through the door into the light.

* * *

They're all nervous, coming up to the portal. Even Edward, who's definitely the most warlike of any of them, looks a little uncomfortable when the Kolton guards step back from the door to let them into the portal chamber. Michelle tries to keep calm. They're not going to do anything stupid.

The portal glows softly in the dim light, and they all circle around it, like a pack of dogs who've smelled something they don't know what to do with. "Any ideas?" Edward asks.

Kiriya shakes his head. "There aren't any signs to read," he says. "Nothing else has changed. It was quiet, and now it—"

The light gets brighter, swelling until Michelle has to look away. Aya cries out, and Edward curses.

And then a sweet, familiar voice says, "This is _not_ what I expected to find at the top of those stairs."

"Capell!" Aya says.

Michelle looks, and for an instant she thinks she's seeing double: two Capells, in armor, holding their swords, disheveled and out of breath. But then she sees the different ways they smile, and—it's not possible, but—

"My lord," Edward says, taking a step forward. He stops. "Your majesty," he says, and sinks to one knee, hand over his heart in salute.

Sigmund shakes his head. "Rise," he says, offering his hand. "My friend."

He helps Edward to his feet, and then he looks at Michelle, and she couldn't hold herself back for anything. She throws herself into his arms, heedless of the uncomfortable edges of his armor, and it's ridiculous but _now_ she's crying. "Sigmund," she says.

"It's all right," he tells her. His hand settles at the small of her back, warm, comforting. "It's all right."

She sniffles, trying to get control of herself, and when she looks over at Edward it looks like he's close to tears himself. Sigmund is still holding onto him, too, and Michelle is glad that they were both here for this reunion. To the other side, Aya is crying a little, too, and yelling at Capell for making her worry so much. Kiriya stands by the doorway with his arms folded, ignoring them like a cat.

"How is this possible?" Edward asks. "How did you wind up here?"

"I could ask the same of you," Sigmund says. "We all have stories to tell, don't we?"

Capell nods. "Could we go find something to eat first, maybe? There was nothing to eat in there and I'm starving."

"You've just returned from the dead, and all you can think about is food?" Edward says. Capell ducks his head sheepishly, and Edward laughs. "We've missed you. Welcome back."

* * *

They can't simply find a quick meal and be done with it, not when they're heroes returned from death's embrace. Sigmund finds himself at the center of a whirl of activity that takes over the dining room of Kolton's inn completely, everyone talking at once, everyone in the Force vying for his and Capell's attention. The table is piled high with as many delicacies as it will bear, dishes prepared by the inn's staff as well as some specialty from every member of the Force who can manage more than boiling water.

Sigmund tells them what little he remembers after Vesplume Tower, the shadowy haze of that place outside of time, and over the course of the meal he hears the tale of the world's liberation from the Dreadknight and from Veros himself. Not all of the news is good; Sigmund grieves for the unblessed of Sapran, and he worries for the aristos who will not wake. Still, the Order is defeated, the chains shattered, and people are more resilient than they usually believe themselves to be. Sigmund lived seventeen years as an unblessed, and already he can see the people of Kolton learning to adapt. They will miss their lunaglyphs, certainly, but losing them—and the tyranny they represent—will not mean true defeat.

By the time they reach the sweet course, the talk has begun to turn from the past to the future. "It seems unlikely that everywhere managed as well as Kolton," Eugene says. "There are probably a lot of people who don't know what to do with themselves now."

Dominica snorts into her mug of ale. "They'll figure it out," she says. "More people have gotten by without lunaglyphs than you think, even before this."

"True," Sigmund says. "But we should still do what we can to help." There are nods from around the table; he chose his comrades for their strength of heart as much as their strength of arms. "The Liberation Force no longer has battles to fight. Still, there is plenty we could do. Help restore order, provide protection for those who are in need."

Genma nods thoughtfully, and Eugene picks up the thought. "We should bring the news to the other major cities—let them know what happened and see how they're doing," he says. "Probably not everywhere pulled through as easily as they did here. Fear often makes people violent."

"I hope Fayel is okay," Aya says, looking down at her plate.

"You can lead the team headed there," Sigmund says. She'll be the rightful heir; it's only fitting for her to go to her people's aid.

"Of course!" she says, beaming as if that was a special favor. "Capell, you can come with me."

In the chair next to Sigmund's, Capell startles. "Me?" he says.

"You!" Aya says. "Don't you want to?"

"I, um," Capell says. "I guess?"

"We don't need to make final plans tonight," Sigmund says. "We should act quickly, true, but perhaps not that quickly."

Edward clears his throat. "Where will you go, my lord?"

There are several places that call to him, but Sigmund thinks his duty leads him to one above all others. "Casandra," he says. "It was a beautiful country once. I would like to make it so again."

"Are we going to have to go home?" Rico asks. The room in general takes up the question, people talking among themselves about their plans, their homelands, what the future holds for all of them. Sigmund closes his eyes for a moment, letting the sound wash over him. Home. It's been a long time since Casandra was home for him, and from the sound of things it's much changed since he saw it last. But it will be good to turn his energy to something more constructive than warfare; he'd like to leave a legacy of what he has built, not only what he has torn down.

He leans close to Capell. "You know I would be glad to have you with me," he says. "Casandra is your birthright, too."

Capell rubs the back of his neck. "Right," he says. "Um. Is that an order?"

"No," Sigmund says reluctantly. He wants to keep Capell close, wants a chance to make up for all the time they lost, but Capell has more than proven himself capable of making his own choices. "Merely an offer. If you go with Aya—or take another path—you would still go with my blessings. But I want you to know that you will always be welcome to come home."

"Okay," Capell says. "Thanks. I'll definitely think about it."

Aya tugs on his arm, and looks ready to start forcefully making her case; Sigmund leaves them to it. He has faith in Capell's stubbornness, after seeing it in action more than once. If there's a choice he would prefer, he'll make it and stick with it, no matter who insists otherwise. And if he does choose to go with the Princess of Fayel, instead of making Casandra his home...there are far worse things in a time of chaos than such visible allegiances between nations.

Sigmund moves through the room, listening to conversations, adding a word here or there but mostly content to simply observe. He put this group of people in motion, started them on their path—and then, when he could go no further, Capell took up the charge on his behalf and brought them to victory. They've become comrades now, all of them; perhaps in some cases, he thinks, watching Balbagan lift the children to carry them on his broad shoulders, they've become something like family.

He finds Michelle and Edward slipping through the crowd to meet him, together; on second glance he realizes that Michelle has Edward by the wrist and is dragging him along. "Something urgent?" Sigmund says.

"I want to go with you," Michelle says. She glances at Edward. "We both do."

"If you'll permit it," Edward adds hastily.

Michelle looks about to contradict him—she has far less patience for being denied—but Sigmund holds up a hand to stay her. "I'm honored," he says. "But it won't be easy, from the sound of things, and it may be dreary for a long time. You might consider whether you would be happier helping out in Halgita, or in Burguss. I'm sure they will also need aid."

"If it won't be easy, that's all the more reason for us to come," Edward says. "I won't—we won't send you off on a mission like that on your own. You're too important."

"That's right," Michelle says. "If we let you out of our sight you could get in trouble again. So we're not going to."

Sigmund bows his head, smiling, admitting defeat. The world may have troubles yet to face, and he'll see his share of them, but he has this second chance to make things right, and he has a son who makes him proud, and he has love. "Then I will count myself lucky to have such devoted friends," he says. He glances around the room; people are beginning to slip away, well-feasted and ready to rest. "In the morning, we can start to make plans. For tonight," he says, taking their free hands, "I think it's time we went up to bed."

Edward's cheeks flush. "All three of us?" he says.

It's uncharacteristic of him, perhaps, but this is a night for celebration. "Unless either of you object," Sigmund says.

Edward shakes his head, still flushing crimson, and Michelle laughs. "Of course not," she says.

"This way, then," Sigmund says. Tomorrow will be soon enough to plan a strategy for their future; tonight they can simply be grateful for the present.

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. The title comes from Tolkien, which seemed fitting. The execution might have been sparse, but IU definitely felt like it was reaching for epic themes. The rest of the quote goes, _The world is indeed full of peril and in it there are many dark places. But still there is much that is fair. And though in all lands love is now mingled with grief, it still grows, perhaps, the greater._
> 
> 2\. Who was that who opened the door out of the Seraphic Gate? I wish the game had told us. Veros blames an unnamed female figure for his situation, and one of Michelle's grimoires references the seven gods before Veros, so I took some liberties and assumed that "She" would be one of them, and would be sympathetic to our heroes' plight.


End file.
